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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE UNSEEN HOST 
AND OTHER WAR PLAYS 



Plays 
By Percival Wilde 



Dawn and Other One-Act Plays of Life 
To-day. 

Dawn — The Noble Lord — The Traitor — A 
House of Cards — Playing With Fire — The 
Finger of God. 

Confessional and Other American 
Plays. 

Confessional — The Villain in the Piece — 
According to Darwin — A Question of Morality 

— The Beautiful Story. 

The Unseen Host and Other War 
Plays. 

The Unseen Host — Mothers of Men — Pawns 

— In the Ravine — Valkyrie ! 



THE UNSEEN HOST 

AND OTHER WAR PLAYS 



THE UNSEEN HOST 

MOTHERS OF MEN 

PAWNS 

IN THE RAVINE 

VALKYRIE! 

BY 

PERCIVAL WILDE 



inon-keferTI 




paWVAD-QHS 



BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1917 






s 



«p V 



Copyright, 1917, 
By Percival Wilde. 



All rights reserved, including that of translation 
into foreign languages 

Published September, 1917 



These plays in their printed form are designed for the reading 
public only. All dramatic rights in them are fully protected by 
copyright in the United States and in Great Britain, and no per- 
formance — professional or amateur — may be given without the 
written permission of the author, and the payment of royalty. 
During the progress of the war any organization desiring to present one or 
more of the plays in this volume, and agreeing to apply the entire proceeds 
of such performance or performances to War Relief, through the agency of 
some body organized for that express and sole purpose, will, upon written 
request in advance, be exempted from the payment of royalty. Communi- 
cations may be addressed to the author in care of Little, Brown & 
Company, 34 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 



TYPOGRAPHY BY THE PLIMPTON PRESS, NORWOOD, MASS., U.S.A. 
PEINTED BY S. J. PARKHILI. & CO., BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. 

/ 

OCT -2 1917 

©CI.D 47971 

"Li yi * * I 



To 
I. W. 



PREFACE 

IT is the immemorial privilege of authorship to take 
every side of an argument; to view a thing as it is 
to each of many different men. Of a great subject 
only a few aspects may be discerned from any one 
coign of vantage. It is the right of an author to look 
upon it through the eyes of a multitude of characters, 
to set down how it appears to each one of them, and how 
they, in turn, react to it. 

This is a book of viewpoints. 

The great facts of life mean different things to the 
various persons who come into contact with them. 
War is one of those facts. It cannot signify to the 
peasant what it does to the educated man; still it has 
a very definite, very concrete meaning for each of them. 
Its meaning changes with the intellect, the emotional 
background, the character of each person who is affected 
by it. Materialist or idealist, skeptic or believer, hero 
or craven, each takes from it what he brings to it, each 
finds in it support for his convictions. 

There are those, who like the Greeks, draw down 
their gods to champion them in their combats; 

There are those, who in the words of their prophet, 
believe that "a good fight justifies any cause"; 

There are those who understand, or think they 
understand, and act accordingly; 



viii PREFACE 

There are those who do not understand, and do not 
wish to understand; 

And there are those, high and low, who may take no 
active part, but who suffer. 

These disjointed phrases, in a few words, convey the 
thought behind the plays. 

Art knows no nationality. If in "Valkyrie" the 
author has looked through German eyes it is because 
in other of the plays he has looked through Allied eyes. 
Without such a play the book would not be complete. 
For this, neither apologies nor regrets. Our enemies 
are our enemies none the less if we strive to under- 
stand them precisely as they understand themselves. 

A word upon "The Unseen Host." 

Mr Arthur Machen's ingenious tale of "The Bow- 
men," despite his repeated denials, is accepted as truth 
by a startlingly large number of people. 

One refers quite casually to the Angels of Mons; 
they are as well known as the Battle of Mons itself; 
they have passed into legend, co-eval, co-eternal with 
the great conflict which supplies them with a back- 
ground. One is inclined to forget that Mr. Machen 
evolved them out of thin air, and that their only 
authentic appearance is in his pages. 

At the Battle of Mons a mere handful of British 
troops barred the progress of an entire German army 
corps. What was the explanation? Determina- 
tion; downright bravery; superior morale; these were 
abstractions which signified little to a public which 
demanded something more tangible. And when Mr. 



PREFACE ix 



Machen, in a tale made convincing by its wealth of 
detail, related that a vegetarian Briton, a member of 
the heroic little army, had in the moment of supreme 
trial murmured the magic words " Adsit Anglis Sanctus 
Georgius," and that thereupon, amidst outlandish 
shouting, St. George and the bowmen of Agincourt 
had come to the relief of the hard-pressed English, 
the public was satisfied. That numbers do not invari- 
ably connote strength; that a few resolute men might 
prove a very serious obstacle to a force ten times 
greater, this the public was not prepared to believe. 
But a regiment or two, if reinforced by St. George and 
the bowmen of Agincourt might accomplish almost 
anything. That was natural and logical. 

It is remarkable that such beliefs should exist. It 
is remarkable that a myth, which has not the slightest 
vestige of evidence to support it, should be accepted 
as Gospel. But where there is the will to believe, beliefs 
will not be wanting. 

Yet Mr. Machen is a reasonable, level-headed 
gentleman. He is neither a ready believer nor a 
scoffer. "They will be mistaken," he says of his 
readers, "if they suppose that I think miracles in 
Judsea credible but miracles in France or Flanders 
incredible." This brilliant line of a brilliant preface 
furnished the inspiration for "The Unseen Host." 
It is a pleasure to offer thanks to one of the most inter- 
esting figures in modern literature. 

Concerning the plays themselves, nothing more need 
be said. Upon the stage a play is offered to an audi- 
ence without the aid of long and elaborate explana- 



x PREFAC E 

tions. It is in a similar form that the printed play 
must be offered to its readers. The present preface 
exists only because the five plays are related to each 
other; because a word upon that subject may bring the 
reader to a sympathetic understanding of the author's 
purpose. 

New York, July, 1917. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface vii 

The Unseen Host 1 

Mothers of Men 17 

Pawns 33 

In the Ravine 63 

Valkyrie! 85 



THE UNSEEN HOST 

Opus £8 



THE UNSEEN HOST 

At an improvised American hospital in Paris. A 
large room, with the traces of former magnificence, now 
serving as living room to the surgeon in charge. At the 
rear, tall Gothic windows of leaded glass — heavily 
curtained. At the right, two doors, huge, ancient — that 
nearer the audience leading into an interior room: that 
farther off opening on the upper landing of a staircase. 
At the left, an enormous fireplace. What little furniture 
there is is massive and ornate. The most conspicuous 
piece is a heavy table near the center of the room. On 
the table is a bronze desk lamp. 

It is evening. In the room itself no lights are burning, 
and there is semi-darkness. 

The first door opens, and a uniformed orderly enters 
quietly. He is a middle-aged man who lacks an arm; 
the medal on his breast may explain why. He deposits 
a sheaf of papers on the table; proceeds to the windows 
and closes the curtains. 

Steps are heard ascending the stairs, the second door 
opens, and the surgeon, a white-clad, elderly American 
who holds himself very erect despite his years, stands at 
the threshold deferentially awaiting a compatriot some 
ten years his junior, the best type of the successful American 
man of affairs. 
the surgeon (holding the door open) 

This way. 
the visitor (appearing at the head of the flight of stairs) 

Is he in here? 



THE UNSEEN HOST 



THE SURGEON 

Who? 

THE VISITOR 

The boy who saw the angels? 

the surgeon (smiling) 

Oh, you haven't forgotten him, have you? He's 
in the next room. (The visitor enters, obviously 
winded by the climb) I'll show him to you after- 
wards. Get your breath first. You look a little 
exhausted. 

the visitor (grinning) 
A little? Quite a little. 

THE SURGEON 

Sit down here. (The orderly proffers a chair. The 
visitor sits. The surgeon turns . on the desk lamp) 
This house was built before the Grand Monarque 
taught them to have an eye to comfort. Magnificent 
— splendid — all that sort of thing, but mighty 
unpleasant if you have to live in it. Think of the 
stretcher bearers carrying men up those stairs ! 

THE VISITOR 

There ought to be an elevator. 

THE SURGEON 

Yes. 

THE VISITOR 

Put one in. Send me the bill. 
the surgeon (nodding) 
Thank you. We need it badly. (The orderly leaves 
the room by the first door) These old houses, very 
picturesque, very ornamental — 

THE VISITOR 

But no conveniences? 



THE UNSEEN HOST 



THE SURGEON 

The men who built them didn't know the meaning 
of the word. We felt that when we turned this into 
a hospital. Think of it: it used to be a show place! 
Not much left of it now. There was a bed here — 
right where you are sitting; one of those great, big, 
canopied affairs — 
the visitor 
Unsanitary. 

THE SURGEON 

Very. That's why I had it taken out. But Henry 
of Navarre had spent a night in it. 

THE VISITOR 

Even Henry of Navarre had to give way to modern 
efficiency ! 

the surgeon (nodding) 

Yes. (He points to the door through which the orderly 
has gone) That was his anteroom the next morning. 
Can you picture it? The courtiers: the crowds of 
lords and ladies: the nobility of France waiting 
to greet His Majesty ! 

the visitor (strolling over) 

Nothing like that to-day, is there? 

the surgeon (opening the door) 

I don't know. Look! the rows of beds, and the 
quiet men who are lying in them. The nobility of 
France? Those painted and bef rilled lords and 
ladies were no whit more noble than are these! (He 
pauses) The King's anteroom! It is more that 
now than it ever was! 

the visitor (understanding) 
Waiting to meet His Majesty. 



6 THE UNSEEN HOST 

the surgeon (closing the door quietly) I didn't know 
you were a poet. But it doesn't need much of this 
atmosphere to change a man's view of life. It's 
intoxicating. (He turns) From these windows you 
could have watched the Catholics murdering the 
Huguenots three hundred and fifty years ago. 
Twenty years later you would have seen a Huguenot 
king going to sleep in this room. Why, I could talk 
about the place for hours! What wonderful men 
and women have sat where we are sitting! What 
a glorious company has passed through these molder- 
ing doors! What ghosts hover about us while we 
speak! 
{The visitor starts violently. 

THE SURGEON 

What is it? 

THE VISITOR 

I thought I heard something. 
the surgeon (smiling) 

They are friendly ghosts. (Shrewdly) But "you said 

before that you didn't believe in them! 
the visitor 

Neither I do. 
the surgeon 

Or angels? 

THE VISITOR 

Call them what you like. 

THE SURGEON 

Well, then? 

THE VISITOR 

I thought I saw something. (Apologetically) The 
light is so dim. 



THE UNSEEN HOST 



THE SURGEON 

The men in the next room don't like bright lights. 

THE VISITOR 

But you can keep the door closed. 
the surgeon (shaking his head) 

It won't stay closed. It's rickety — like everything 

else in the building. (He crosses to the windows) 

I'll open the curtains if you like. 
the visitor (watching him) 

Aren't you afraid of the Zeppelins? 

THE SURGEON 

Too much of a fatalist for that. They were here 
a week ago. 

THE VISITOR 

And didn't hurt you? 

THE SURGEON 

Blew up yards and yards of pavement with the 
result that we had to lay wooden boards in the street. 
The hospital wasn't damaged. 
the visitor (evidently referring to a previous con- 
versation) 
Another miracle! 

THE SURGEON 

What? 
the visitor (mildly bantering) 

You seem to live in the midst of the supernatural! 
the surgeon (nodding gravely) 

Yes. 

THE VISITOR 

And you were born in Bangor, Maine, and studied 
medicine at Johns Hopkins! 



8 THE UNSEEN HOST 

the surgeon (after a pause) 
You are a Christian, I take it? 

THE VISITOR 

Why — naturally. 

THE SURGEON 

You believe that a miracle happened in Palestine. 
You deny that another might happen in Flanders. 
the visitor (uneasily) 

Well, if you put it that way — 

THE SURGEON 

Now I'm going to read you the boy's statement. 
{Tie sits at the table, and goes through the contents of 
one of the drawers. The first door opens slowly. The 
visitor watches it, fascinated. He draws his breath 
sharply. The surgeon looks up; takes in the situa- 
tion. 
the visitor 
The door's opening! 

THE SURGEON 

I warned you; it has a habit of doing that. 
\[The orderly enters through the opened door, crosses 
to the other door, goes. The visitor draws a breath 
of relief. 
the surgeon (smiling) 

For a disbeliever you are easily startled. (The 
visitor does not reply) Now listen. (He reads) 
"I saw them. I know I saw them. Whether they 
were angels, whether they were devils, whether they 
were living or dead, I do not know. But they were 
shining shapes, and nothing could withstand them. 
We were pressed — hard pressed. Another ten 
minutes, and it would have been all over with us. 



THE UNSEEN HOST 9 

We would have been crushed by the advancing hordes, 
trodden under into the mire. And then I heard a 
tramping, a tramping gradually growing louder, a 
tramping first challenging the roar of the battle, and 
then overwhelming it, drowning it, so that all sound 
had become one huge rhythmic tramp, tramp, tramp ! 
I thought my eardrums would burst. And then I 
looked up and beheld the light reflected on their 
armor, and the sky filled with a huge glitter, and the 
rays of the sun shining through showers of arrows! 
And the enemy melted away before us : melted by the 
hundreds; by the thousands; by the tens of thou- 
sands; and those celestial hosts tramped upwards, 
tramped up that invisible pathway into the heavens, 
tramped out of sight!" 
[He stops. 
the visitor (after a pause) 
And then? 

THE SURGEON 

Then a bullet struck him, and he was unconscious 
until they brought him here. 
the visitor (after another pause; emphasizing the 
inconsistency) 
Tramping ghosts! 

THE SURGEON 

Why not? 
the visitor (positively) 

Ghosts are noiseless. 
the surgeon (shrewdly) 

If you speak from experience — 
the visitor (nettled) 

I didn't say I believed in them. 



10 THE UNSEEN HOST 



the surgeon (innocently) 

No; you said quite the opposite. 
the visitor (dogmatically) 

Anyhow, ghosts don't tramp! 
the surgeon (gently bantering) 

Not even a ghostly tramp? They clank chains, I 

am told. Why shouldn't their steps have a sound? 

A sort of a hollow, ghostly sound? 

THE VISITOR 

Bah! Are you sure the bullet struck him after he 
saw the — the angels? 

THE SURGEON 

So he says. 

THE VISITOR 

Hm! And you take his word for it! (He walks over 
to the door) Dying, you say? 

THE SURGEON 

Three quarters dead already. 

THE VISITOR 

And young? 

THE SURGEON 

Nineteen — one of thousands. Oh, it's not romantic 
in the least. He's barely conscious; and he's 
waiting to go back to the front. He thinks he's 
going to get well. 

THE VISITOR 

They all think that, don't they? He won't? 

THE SURGEON 

Never in this world. Queer, isn't it? Shot clean 
through the body; suffering like the devil, and all 
he's thinking of is when he's to go back — when he's 
to rejoin his regiment! 



THE UNSEEN HOST 11 

THE VISITOR 

Like an animal trying to return to the slaughter 
pen. 
the surgeon {'pointedly) 
Yes: if animals saw angels. 

THE VISITOR 

Hm! {He pauses) Do you really believe he saw 
them? 

THE SURGEON 

I read you his statement. 

THE VISITOR 

Which he wrote himself? 

THE SURGEON 

Hardly; he knows no English. 

THE VISITOR 

Why didn't you take it down in the original? 

THE SURGEON 

I did. {He produces a second sheet of paper) Here 
it is. {He pauses; smiles) I translated it, para- 
phrased it, for my own pleasure, if you like. The 
original is a mass of ejaculations; short phrases, 
repeated over and over again. I tried to make it 
coherent. 

THE VISITOR 

And repeated it back to him? {The surgeon shakes 
his head) Why not? 

THE SURGEON 

He takes no notice of anything. 

THE VISITOR 

Oh! Not quite in his senses? 

THE SURGEON 

No. 



12 THE UNSEEN HOST 

THE VISITOR 

Raving? And you believe his ravings? 

THE SURGEON 

I neither believe nor disbelieve. 

THE VISITOR 

But an insane man? 

the surgeon (with emphasis) 

Who has not had the education to invent what he 
told me! Imaginative? Not in the least. He was 
a farm hand before the war. 

the visitor (persistently) 
Still, in his delirium — 

the surgeon (interrupting) 

He wouldn't rave like a poet. You forget: I have lis- 
tened to so many others. (He pauses) You think I 
am credulous. Perhaps. I neither affirm nor deny. 
They tell me of these things they call miracles — 

the visitor (interrupting) 
And you ask no explanation? 

THE SURGEON 

Why must there be one? 

THE VISITOR 

There always is. 

THE SURGEON 

Yes; generally more miraculous than the miracle 
itself. (He pauses; then, with solemnity) When, 
in the twentieth century, I myself have seen millions 
of men leaving their peaceful homes, their work, 
their occupations, to kill one another, I say that is 
such a dreadful, such an unbelievable miracle that 
next to it everything else becomes insignificant. If 
this paperweight were to turn into a roaring lion 



THE UNSEEN HOST 13 

before my eyes I would say that too was a miracle 

— but that all of humanity had been witness to a 

greater! 

[The first door opens slowly. 
the visitor (calling attention to it without alarm) 

The door is opening again. 

[The surgeon goes to it without a word; closes it. 
the visitor (as he does so) 

You would say that the soul of the dying soldier has 

come through that door on its way to rejoin its 

regiment! 
the surgeon (nodding gravely) 

If I were a poet. 

[As he speaks the second door opens deliberately. He 

watches it with a smile; the visitor with curious fas- 
cination. 
the visitor 

Gad! 

[The door closes of its own accord. 
the visitor (repeating as if hypnotized) 

To rejoin its regiment! 
the surgeon (after a pause) 

You didn't notice — 
the visitor (sharply) 

What? 
the surgeon (mildly) 

To me — the room seemed somewhat lighter for an 

instant. ] 
the visitor 

Bah! V 

THE SURGEON 

A poetic conception of yours: the soul joins the 



14 THE UNSEEN HOST 

regiment of souls ! All around us — above us — 
within us — the unseen host gathers its forces ! 
[There is the very, very faint sound of a bugle in the 
distance. 
the visitor (under his breath) 
Did you hear? 

THE SURGEON 

I heard. j 

THE VISITOR 

A bugle! 

THE SURGEON 

Yes. 

[They listen, and gradually there commences a curious, 
hollow, rhythmic tramp. Very subdued at first, it 
increases slowly in volume, without in the least acceler- 
ating its precise, martial rhythm. It grows louder, 
and louder, and louder; and nearer. The building 
seems to vibrate with the rhythmically recurrent footfall. 
The visitor rushes to the windows. He peers out. 
Then, in a tone of awe: 

THE VISITOR 

Fog! Nothing but fog! 

[Utterly bewildered, he turns. The tramping swells 
into a climax. Then, more quickly than it has grown, 
ebbs into silence. 
the visitor (breathlessly) 
What was it? 

THE SURGEON 

A regiment marching by. 

THE VISITOR 

But the tramp? The hollow tramp? 



THE UNSEEN HOST 15 

the surgeon (very matter of fact) 

I told you — there is a board pavement. 
the visitor (breaking into a high-pitched, hysterical 

laugh) 

So there is! So there is! 

[The second door opens, and the orderly, very much 

excited, stands on the threshold. 

THE ORDERLY 

Doctor! 

THE SURGEON 

Yes? 

THE ORDERLY 

The boy — the boy who saw the angels — where is he? 

THE SURGEON 

In there. 

THE ORDERLY 

You are sure? 

[The men look at each other silently. 

THE SURGEON 

Why do you ask? 

THE ORDERLY 

I saw him! 

THE VISITOR 

What? 

THE ORDERLY 

In the front ranks ! With my own eyes ! I saw him ! 

[The surgeon hurries out of the room. 
the visitor (after a tense pause) 

He was dying. Did you know that? 
the orderly (gravely) 

I knew. 

[The surgeon reenters. 



16 THE UNSEEN HOST 

THE VISITOR 

Well? 
the surgeon (nodding quietly) 
Dead. 

THE ORDERLY 

I saw him! With my own eyes I saw him! 

THE SURGEON 

Dead not five minutes. 
the visitor (staggered) 

But — but such things don't happen! There were 
thousands of boys like him ! 

THE SURGEON (slowly) 

Yes. 

the visitor (turning fiercely on the orderly) 

You must have been mistaken! 
the orderly (changing the word pointedly) 

I might have been mistaken. 

THE SURGEON 

Then, again, you might not have been — 

[_The orderly nods quietly, under standingly. The 

visitor gasps. . . . 

THE CURTAIN FALLS SLOWLY 



MOTHERS OF MEN 

Oyus &6 



MOTHERS OF MEN 

"A sumptuously furnished drawing-room; magnificent 
furniture, priceless paintings, rugs more yielding than 
moss. And everything beautiful, costly, and in the best 
of good taste." 

Let the reader, if he will, imagine the precise opposite. 
Not that anything that strikes his eye is distinctly shabby, 
or that any particle of dust mars the neatness of the 
room; for Mrs. Chepstowe prides herself on her house- 
keeping, and would feel justly slighted at any animadver- 
sions upon it. But the furniture presents that curious 
conglomerate effect which indicates a compromise between 
comfort and fashion. The late Mr. Chepstowe cared 
entirely for the former; his widow struggled as best she 
could for the latter. The result is distressing: could not 
have been more distressing even if the family purse had 
been deeper. For the room is crammed with an abundance 
of poorly designed and cheaply made movables. In the 
care of a less conscientious owner they would have fallen 
to pieces long ago. But by dint of plenty of elbow grease 
they retain something of their pristine condition, some- 
thing of the congenital senility, of the old-maidish stiffness 
and primness of the Victorian period. 

" There is no place like home," sang the poet. He never 
knew how literally truthful his asseveration might become. 
For each of the thousand two-room apartments ivhich 
Maida Vale boasts rejoices in monstrosities peculiar to 

19 



20 MOTHERS GE MEN 

itself, sufficient to differentiate it immediately from all 
the others. 

In the center of her beloved horrors sits Mrs. Chep- 
stowe herself, a well-preserved widow of some fifty odd 
years, with "middle-class" almost visibly written over 
her features. Mr. Chepstowe had considered himself 
part of the backbone of the British nation, and had an- 
nounced himself as such times without number over the 
counter of his ironmonger 's shop on Ludgate Hill. His 
widow continues to live up to his reputation, and as she 
sits knitting in her easy-chair this crisp October afternoon, 
her thoughts wander with a certain pride to the past, 
which was a tedious but emphatic uphill climb, and with 
a sudden pang to the present, for, like a million other 
British women, she has a son "somewhere in France," 
and would give much to see him face to face. 
The doorbell rings. 

Mrs. Chepstowe folds her knitting carefully, rises, 
and leaves the room. She is heard to open the door to the 
hall. There is a sound of voices. Presently words 
become distinguishable. 
mrs. chepstowe (outside) 

If you will step in here . . . (She opens the door to the 
living room. A woman of the same age, but far better 
dressed, — presumably a member of fashionable society, 
precedes her into the room) Yes? What can I do for 
you? (But the caller is in a fearful state of excitement, 
trembling, flustered, unable to speak coherently, and 
Mrs. Chepstowe recognizes it) Won't you sit down? 
\_She offers a chair. 
the caller (sitting, with a gasp of relief) 
Thank you. 



MOTHERS OF MEN 21 



( 



MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

And a cup of tea? 

THE CALLER 

No, no. 

mrs. chepstowe (proceeding towards the tea-table) 
It will take only a minute. 

THE CALLER 

No, no. I couldn't drink anything. 

\!There is a pause. Then Mrs. Chepstowe makes an 

effort to relieve the situation. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Lovely weather we've been having, isn't it? And 
so unusual at this time of year. I went for a walk 
yesterday, and I don't know when I enjoyed any- 
thing so much. 

THE CALLER 

Yes, yes. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

I started bright and early in the morning. (She 
checks off on her fingers) Abercorn Place, Abbey 
Road, Marlborough Road, Queen's Road, all the 
way to Primrose Park. Then I came back by way 
of Park Road and St. John's Wood. I felt quite 
refreshed. 
[ She pauses. 

the caller (taking up her subject suddenly) 
You are Mrs. Albert Chepstowe? 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Yes. 

THE CALLER 

I am Mrs. Howard Chepstowe. 



22 MOTHERS OF MEN 

mrs. chepstowe (interested) 

Oh, we have the same name, haven't we? And it's 
such an unusual name. Do your husband's people 
come from Lancashire, by any chance? 

the caller (with a visible effort) 
No: Devon. 

mrs. chepstowe (disappointed) 

Oh. I didn't know there were any Chepstowes 
living there. (Confidentially) There was an aunt 
of my husband's who was so much interested in 
genealogy, and who traced the Chepstowe family all 
the way back to the Conquest. She'd have been 
so glad to know you. 

the caller (interrupting abruptly) 

Mrs. Chepstowe, this came for me yesterday. 
\She fumbles in her chatelaine, and pulls out an envelope 
with the royal crest and the H. M. B. frank on it. 
Mrs. Chepstowe takes it, but recognizes its import even 
before she has opened the flap. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

You poor thing! 
the caller {breaking into tears) 
You know what it is? 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Every woman in the Kingdom knows. Every woman 
in the Kingdom is afraid of getting such a letter any 
day. (She shakes her head in sympathy) Who was 
it? Your husband? 
the caller (between her sobs) 
No — he's been dead many years. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Then your son? 



MOTHERS OF MEN 23 

THE CALLER 

My son. My only son. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

I don't know what to say to you. I really don't. 
[There is a pause. 

THE CALLER 

For a week, no letter from him. Then this: killed 
at La Bassee, the twenty-ninth. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

The twenty-ninth? That was Michaelmas. 

THE CALLER 

As if it made any difference what day it was! All 
that I know is that from now on it will be the most 
terrible day in the year to me. The twenty-ninth; 
I went to theater that evening. Perhaps the letter 
was even then on its way to me . . . Yesterday 
it came, with the first mail. What I have gone 
through since — you can't imagine ! 
mrs. chepstowe (gently) 

I don't have to imagine. I have a son at the front 
myself. (She pauses; smiles sadly. The caller makes 
no remark) He didn't enlist in the early days of the 
war. An only child, you see, and I wasn't anxious 
to have him go. Just the two of us there were, and 
I thought the mothers who had more than one son 
might give up some of theirs. I had no one but Tom. 
So we talked it over. He was eager; said that Eng- 
land needed every man who was strong enough to 
shoulder a gun, but he looked at me, and around our 
cosy little home, and he must have seen the expression 
in my eyes, because he said he'd wait a while. And 
I said, "Yes, Tom." And then he'd come home 



24 MOTHERS OF MEN 

evenings, and tell me how his friends had gone off, 
and how Dickie Fitzgerald was a corporal now, and 
how Will Tupper, that great, big, hulking fellow, 
who they thought would never amount to anything, 
had gotten the V. C. Will Tupper, whom Tom had 
given a beating in his school days! Then he'd pick 
up the paper, and he'd say, "Mother, Kitchener 
needs more men." I knew what was coming, but I 
acted as if it was nothing. I said, "Yes, Tom." 
We come of an old fighting stock, you know. His 
great-grandfather fought through the Peninsular 
War. It was his blood in Tom's veins, and it needed 
more than I could add to cool it down. So I said 
nothing, but I went over Tom's clothes — saw that 
he had warm underwear, and heavy socks. And 
then, then, I had always thought it would be of an 
evening, but it wasn't — it was after breakfast one 
Sunday, Tom pushed his plate away, and looked 
at me — just looked at me. I knew what it meant. 
Without his saying a word, I knew what it meant. 
I had seen that look so often in my dreams and I had 
awakened so often trembling, hoping it was only a 
nightmare. But I said, "Yes, Tom." (She bows 
her head and is silent an instant) He took me in 
his arms, and I put my lips up to his — he 's much 
taller than I — and he said, "Little mother, I'm 
going to leave you to-morrow," and I said, "Yes, 
Tom." He squared his shoulders, did my boy, and 
he said, "There's a man's work to be done," and — 
and the next night I ate my supper alone. 
the caller (after a pause, gently) 
I know how you felt. 



MOTHERS OF MEN 25 

mrs. chepstowe (nodding, and wiping away a tear) 
I used to say that to myself : that there were so many 
other mothers whose sons meant just as much to 
them as mine meant to me. But I can't believe it. 
I don't suppose any of them believe it. That's 
what it is to be a mother. 

the caller (half to herself) 
They're all alike, aren't they? 

Mrs. chepstowe (without answering) 

I know how I used to worry about his scrapes when 
he was at school. He wasn't a bad boy, but he was 
a mischievous boy: he was always up to something. 
(She smiles) One day he came home full of splinters: 
more splinters than boy, I think. He had climbed 
the flag-pole, and slid down too fast. Anybody else 
would have broken a leg, at least. Tom wasn't a 
bit upset; would have done it again, except that the 
splinters hurt. Another day he fell out of the 
window, trying to see who could lean out furthest. 
He won. (She pauses) Well, after a few of those 
things had happened it wasn't so bad. I made up 
my mind he wasn't born to be killed — or he 'd have 
been killed long ago. That's the one thought that 
comforts me to-day. (With sudden recollection) 
Oh, I beg your pardon. I was thoughtless. 

THE CALLER 

You needn't apologize. I used to think the same 
thing about my son. The scrapes that he got into at 
Eton? Why, it makes my hair stand on end even to 
think of them. And Cambridge was no better; 
it wasn't six months before he was hit over the head 
playing polo. 



26 MOTHERS OF MEN 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Oh, your son played polo? {Naively) You must 

be rich. 
the caller {embarrassed) 

Mr. Chepstowe was well-to-do. 
mrs. chepstowe {eagerly) 

What was his business? My Mr. Chepstowe was an 

ironmonger. 

THE CALLER 

He had no business. 
mrs. chepstowe {surprised) 
What? 

THE CALLER 

He was a gentleman. 
mrs. chepstowe {vastly impressed) 

A gentleman! Now what do you think of that? 
{She shakes her head) I always wanted to be rich, 
if only for what I could have done for my boy. Eton 
— and Cambridge — and polo — I always wanted 
him to have such things, but I could never afford 
them. {Looking at the caller with added respect) 
Your son must have been an officer? 

THE CALLER 

No. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Not an officer? 

THE CALLER 

He enlisted the day war was declared. He had had 
no experience. I could have gotten him a commis- 
sion, but he wouldn't take it: said he wasn't fit 
to command men who knew more than he did. 



MOTHERS OF MEN 27 

mrs. chepstowe (appreciatively) 

That was fine, wasn't it? I suppose they sent him 
off to one of the training camps? 

THE CALLER 

Yes. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

That's what they did with my boy. Just to think of 
it! In a training camp, along with gentlemen! 
And then — 

THE CALLER 

Off to France. 
mrs. chepstowe (with a sudden change of tone) 
Yes; off to France. 

[_There is a pause. The caller is evidently ill at ease. 
Then she continues, rather abruptly. 

THE CALLER 

Mrs. Chepstowe, I don't know what you'll think of 
me, but — 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Yes? 

THE CALLER 

You're so wonderful about it that I don't know what 
to say. And it was the only reason I came here. 
(She stops uncertainly. Mrs. Chepstowe is silent. 
The caller takes the plunge) Do you know a man 
named Safford? 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Safford? 

THE CALLER 

Lieutenant the Honorable Cecil Safford? 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

The Honorable? How should I know an Honorable? 



28 MOTHERS OF MEN 

the caller (avoiding Mrs. Chepstowe's eyes) 

He was badly wounded some time ago: so badly 
they didn't dare move him. He was invalided home 
this week . . . He was in the same regiment as my 
son. When — when the letter came, I stopped in 
to see him. 

mrs. chepstowe (anticipating) 

And he told you that your son died fighting bravely — 

the caller (interrupting with ill-concealed excitement) 
He hadn't heard. He didn't know until I told him. 
He wasn't with the regiment then. He had been 
wounded before that. I told you. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

I'm sorry; I forgot. 

THE CALLER 

He was shocked to hear about my son. They had 
been close friends; were in Cambridge together. 
But it suddenly occurred to him — 
[She breaks off. 

mrs. chepstowe (encouragingly) 
Yes? 

the caller (with averted face) 

I don't know what you'll think of me for saying this 
— it's too terrible. (In desperation) But I 'm a 
mother, you know, and he's my only son. Lieu- 
tenant Safford suddenly recalled that there was 
another man in the regiment with the same name 
as my son. 

mrs. chepstowe (rising terror-stricken) 

The same name as your son? What do you mean? 

the caller (also rising) 

Your son's name is Tom Chepstowe? 



MOTHERS OF MEN 29 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Well? 
the caller (facing her with compressed lips) 

That was the name ! 
mrs. chepstowe (with a wail) 

Oh, how could you ! 
the caller (with a fierce resolution) 

To a mother anything is permitted. The same 

name, the same regiment; they might have made a 

mistake. 
MRS. chepstowe! 

How dare you ! 

THE CALLER 

It's my son or your son! 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

My son wasn't born to be killed! 

THE CALLER 

I thought the same thing. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

But I know! 

THE CALLER 

I went to the War Office, and they told me — 

mrs. chepstowe (interrupting) 
That there was no mistake. 

the caller (with emphasis) 

That they would try and make sure. (Breaking 
down suddenly) Mrs. Chepstowe, for twenty-four 
hours they've been trying to make sure! I thought 
I'd go mad! For twenty-four hours I've been 
living there, going from one clerk to another, directed, 
misdirected, and they're all so kind, and they don't 



30 MOTHERS OF MEN 

know, (with pathetic sarcasm) and they're trying to 
make sure. And in the meantime — ! 
\_She breaks off in agony. 
mrs. chepstowe (regaining something of her equanimity 
after a pause) 
It isn't my son. I had a letter from him yesterday. 

THE CALLER 

I had a letter from my son to-day \ 
mrs. chepstowe (horrified) 
No! 

THE CALLER 

Dated the twenty-eighth. (As the other looks her 
incredulity, she fumbles in her bag and pulls out a 
crumpled note) Don't you believe me? Listen to 
this: "Dear Mater — " (She chokes; reaches the 
note to Mrs. Chepstowe) Read it yourself if you like. 
mrs. chepstowe (recoiling in horror) 
No! No! 

THE CALLER 

I couldn't stand it alone! It was more than I could 
bear! I came to you because you must listen! 
Because you are the one woman in the world who 
must share my agony with me ! 
mrs. chepstowe (with unutterable loathing) 
You beast! 

THE CALLER 

That's right ! Call me names ! Call me all the names 
you like! I know how you feel. And I would feel 
the same in your place. But I had to do it! At 
the War Office, a thousand other women, trying to 
find out, running from clerk to clerk, running from 
door to door, trying to make sure. They didn't 



MOTHERS OF MEN 31 

have time to listen to me. They were too busy tell- 
ing their own stories. But you — you must listen ! 
You must hear me ! 
\There is a pause. 

mrs. chepstowe {with a quivering gesture of the thumb) 
Mrs. Chepstowe, the door — the door! 

THE CALLER 

What? 

mrs. chepstowe (trying to control herself) 
Will you go? — or shall I throw you out? 
\_The door-bell rings. The women face each other, 
motionless, panting. Then Mrs. Chepstowe collects 
herself, and leaves the room quietly. A pause. Then, 
from outside, comes a pitiable gasp. The caller raises 
her head in instant comprehension; rushes to the door; 
flings it open. Outside stands Mrs. Chepstowe, tot- 
tering, barely keeping herself erect — and there is an 
envelope in her hand. 

the caller (in an hysterical outburst) 

I was right! I knew it! Thank God! I was right! 
I was right! 

[_Mrs. Chepstowe advances slowly into the room: 
advances with the unsure step of a sick woman. The 
caller suddenly regains control of herself; is motionless, 
save for the nervous twitching of her lips, and her 
rapid breathing. 

mrs. chepstowe (in an absolutely colorless voice) 
Let me see your letter. 

THE CALLER 

Yes; yes. Of course. 
^Bhe hands it over. 



32 MOTHERS OF MEN 



MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

La Bassee — September twenty-ninth — your son. 
the caller (gently) 

No: yours. 
mrs. chepstowe (in the same dispassionate tones) 

Mine — at Loos — October second. 
the caller (in a ghastly whisper) 

What? 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

Loos — October second. 

the caller (terror-stricken) 

Give me the letters. (She snatches them from Mrs. 
Chepstowe's icy hand; compares them. Then, with 
a heart-rending cry) Both ! 

mrs. chepstowe (with quiet assent) 
Both. 

the caller (dropping the letters to the floor) 
Oh, my God! 

£4 pause. Quivering, the women face each other. 
Their hands clench nervously; their mouths are half 
open, as if they were beasts about to spring at each other 9 s 
throats. And in the half second that has passed, both 
of them look older — so much older! And Mrs. Chep- 
stowe* s breath comes more quickly — and still more 
quickly, and the other woman faces her gaspingly, 
as a rabbit faces a snake. An instant's pause; then 
both collapse, fall into each other's arms, weeping. 

MRS. CHEPSTOWE 

You poor woman ! You poor woman ! 

THE CURTAIN FALLS 



PAWNS 

Opus kk 



PAWNS 

The lights are extinguished. The 'prologue is spoken 
by a male voice. 

Frontier! What images the mere word suggests! 
Barbed wire, and sentries, and eternal vigilance, 
even in times of peace. To the traveler, a place 
where certain necessary inconveniences must be 
encountered. To the native, the end of the world. 
To the statesman, an irksome demarcation, pain- 
fully cramping, encroaching, which, some day, for 
no reason now apparent, must be moved farther off, 
as a result of which various colored ribbons, jeweled 
badges, and sonorous titles will accrue to the said 
statesman, until his alien confreres, in turn, find pre- 
texts to move the line back to the precise degree of 
longitude which originally marked it, or perhaps, 
even beyond that point. Then the whole process 
will commence again, and statesmen will invent new 
pretexts, and monarchs new color combinations for 
their ribbons. And in the cloistered seclusion of 
the colleges, anaemic professors will compile learned 
histories, immortalizing the statesmen, and only 
incidentally celebrating the role that their country- 
men have played, these same countrymen now sepul- 
tured in battleground, cemeteries, and so forth, 
under long-winded inscriptions which nine tenths of 
them, lately become heroes, would not have been 
able to decipher in life. 

35 



36 PAWNS 

In accordance with treaties of peace, new frontiers 
will come into existence, with new sentries, new 
barbed wire, new vigilance. 

But there are frontiers where no human sentries are 
needed — or possible; where, in the impenetrable 
depths of the marshes, bullfrogs swim across the 
invisible line a thousand times in the course of a day, 
without troubling themselves to decide whether they 
are German bullfrogs — or French bullfrogs — or 
Austrian bullfrogs — or Russian bullfrogs. And such 
places there are in plenty along the southwestern 
Russian border, where alternating hill and valley, 
precipice and abyss, virgin forest and unlit swamp- 
land have seen no sentries, save only those whom 
Nature placed there, since time began. 
It is near one of these natural barriers that the scene 
is laid; a barrier almost impassable to the stranger, 
but an easy and accustomed path to the native, 
who threads its tortuous windings without fear. In- 
deed, he looks upon it as a most useful friend; but 
for it, townspeople, not so far away, would have 
reached out cunning hands for the few acres he 
cultivates with so much labor; because of it they 
leave him alone, him, and his similarly situated 
neighbors. 

In the neighborhood of such places men are de- 
nationalized; are neither Russian nor Austrian, but 
are Volhynian — or Galician — or Podolian, without 
having a clear idea, in their isolation, of what the 
terms mean, until war comes and the Volhynian is 
told that the Podolian is his ally and the Galician 
his enemy, is given a gun, and told to glorify God 



PAWNS 37 

and his country by shooting straight and wasting 

no ammunition. . . . 

The voice ceases. 

Chimes. 

The curtain rises in darkness. 

Night: near the end of night, before morning. A 
forest of swampy nature. Here and there, little irregular 
hummocks of ground. Frogs croaking. Near the center, 
a small fire, with a thin, straight flame, casting but little 
light, so that ten feet aioay from it there is darkness. 

Three men are grouped about the fire: Grigor, a Russian 
peasant in his fifties, bearded, grave, with something of the 
peculiar dignity which his class acquires as it ages; Stepan, 
his older son, enormous, powerful, bearded, stretched out 
full length on the ground, and the younger son, Ilia, 
hardly more than a boy. 

A pause. 

ILIA 

An hour more, and it will be light. I can tell by the 
croaking of the frogs. It is as if they were afraid 
of the light. Their croaking is different. Listen! 
\_A pause. 

GRIGOR 

Thirty versts more to Zawichost. 

ILIA 

Is it so far? That is farther than I have ever been. 

GRIGOR 

What of that? By nightfall we will be there. 
stepan {moving his huge frame lazily) 

And then, God willing, one more day, and we return 
home! 



38 PAWNS 

GRIGOR 

God willing ! 

ILIA 

Is it a large city? Will there be many people? 
step an (with an indulgent smile) 

More than you have ever seen before. 

ILIA 

That will be wonderful ! 

STEPAN 

There are streets; more streets than you can count, 
and shops, where they sell beautiful things, and great 
houses all built of stone. 

ILIA 

I shall love to see that! 

GRIGOR 

Not I! (He shakes his head) I am afraid of the 
cities! Oh, I am afraid of the cities! (He addresses 
Stepan) Had you not gone to the city, they would 
have left us alone. 

STEPAN 

No. 

GRIGOR 

They have always left us alone. Here are the 
marshes, and the quicksands. Who knows his way 
through them? Not the city people. They are far 
too comfortable in their stone houses. 

STEPAN 

Nevertheless they would have sent for us. So the 
police said. 

GRIGOR 

The police? Since when do we talk with the police? 
Have I not said that when an honest moujik sees 



PAWNS 39 

a policeman on one side of the street he crosses to the 
other? 

STEPAN 

It was no use. There were too many of them. 
There were police at every corner. There were 
signs in the street, and crowds reading the signs. 

GRIGOR 

Signs! Ah, yes! Signs telling you what to do! 
Signs telling you what not to do! But read? How 
should a moujik read? How to plow a straight 
furrow in the earth, when to sow, when to reap, how 
to feed his hen, his cow, that he knows, and that 
is far better than reading signs! Pah! Because 
you could not read, they told you what they pleased! 

STEPAN 

So I thought at first. 

GRIGOR 

Well? 

STEPAN 

Then I asked others. They all said the same. 

GRIGOR 

Hm! We must go to Zawichost. 

STEPAN 

Yes; to Zawichost. 

GRIGOR 

And lose three days in harvest time. 

STEPAN 

So they said; all of us. 

GRIGOR 

While Michael and lame Peter work in their field 
undisturbed, on the other side of the marsh! When 
we return, when we ask them to help us, they will 



40 PAWNS 

refuse; we have not helped them. (He pauses in 
disgust) If there were only a reason it would be 
otherwise, but for mobilization? (With crowning 
contempt) What is mobilization? 

STEPAN 

When I asked they pointed me out to each other; 
said I was a fine hulk of a man to be asking what was 
mobilization. They laughed at me. They threw 
stones at me. (He is getting angry at the recollection) 
Then I took the biggest of them by the arm — so — 
and I pressed a little, so that his face went white 
beneath the dirt, and the sweat stood out in drops 
on his forehead, and he begged for mercy, and the 
others, they stopped laughing ! 
ilia (who is listening with breathless interest) 
And then? 

STEPAN 

Then I came away. 

J^There is a pause. Then the younger brother, who has 

been much impressed, takes up the conversation. 

ILIA 

You took him by the arm? 
STEPAN (smiling) 
Yes, little brother. 

ILIA 

With one hand only? 

STEPAN 

This selfsame hand. (The boy feels the horny palm 
with interest) Shall I show you? 
ilia (darting out of his reach) 
No, no! I do not doubt you! 



PAWNS 41 

stepan (laughing) 
For that, thanks! 

ILIA 

Still, if you must show me — 
stepan (with the growl of a good-natured bear) 
What? 

ILIA 

Wait until we come to the city to-day. 

STEPAN 

And then? 

ILIA 

Perhaps they will laugh at us — 
stepan (with understanding) 
Yes, little brother! 

ILIA 

Oh, I hope I shall see that! 
£There is a pause. 

GRIGOR 

For fifty years I have been a good Christian. I know 
every holiday of the orthodox church. But mobili- 
zation? That I have never heard of. 
stepan 

Perhaps the Metropolitan has decreed a new festival. 

GRIGOR 

In harvest time? Pah! 

STEPAN 

Harvest time is nothing to the people who live in 
cities. They know nothing of harvests. 
ilia (suddenly) 
I hear steps. 

GRIGOR 

What? 



42 PAWNS 

ILIA 

Listen ! 

{JThey listen. There is no sound, 

GRIGOR 

I hear nothing. 

STEPAN 

The boy has quicker ears than you or I. Listen. 
J[Sti1l there is no sound. 
stepan (addressing Ilia) 
What do you hear? 

ILIA 

Two men. 

STEPAN 

Which way? 

ILIA 

From there. 

XJle points towards the right. 

GRIGOR 

But who should come that way? That is the way 
we have come. The city is in the other direction. 
£4 crackling of branches becomes audible. 

STEPAN 

Now I hear them! Hullo! Hullo! 

VOICES 

Hullo! Hullo! 

ILIA 

Michael and lame Peter. I know their voices. 

STEPAN 

Hullo! This way! 

GRIGOR 

They will not know where we are. Guide them, 
\_Stepan starts off. 



PAWNS 43 

ILIA 

Here! A burning faggot! 

STEPAN 

Since when do I need a light, little brother? 

[He disappears. 

GRIGOR 

Michael and lame Peter? Are you sure? 
ilia {listening) 

I hear them speaking . . . Now he has found them . . . 
They are coming this way. 

GRIGOR 

Why should they follow us? 

[Stepan reappears, followed by two more peasants who 
carry packs, Peter, a farmhand of twenty-two, who 
walks with a pronounced limp, and Michael, his 
employer, a robust man near Grigor' s age. 
grigor (rising ceremoniously) 
Christ be with you! . 

MICHAEL 

Grigor Ignatievitch, Christ be with you! 
grigor (as the others drop their packs and draw near to 
the fire) 
What brings you to the swamp at this time of night? 

MICHAEL 

We asked at the farm. They said you had gone this 
way. 

PETER 

We too, we go to the mobilization. 

GRIGOR 

You also? 

ILIA 

You go to Zawichost? 



44 PAWNS 

PETER 

No; to Sandomierz. 

GRIGOR 

Oh ! So there is mobilization in more than one place 
at once? 

ILIA 

It must be a great festival indeed. 
peter {eagerly) 

A festival, is it then? 

GRIGOR 

Who knows? 

MICHAEL 

But that is why we followed you. We do not know 
what mobilization may be. But Anna Petrovna 
said you had gone there. We thought you would 
know. 
grigor {shrugging his shoulders) 
Whatever it is, we will know to-day. 

PETER 

But now, you cannot tell us? 

GRIGOR 

No. {He pauses) Why do you go to the mobiliza- 
tion in Sandomierz while we go to that in Zawichost? 

MICHAEL 

A soldier said we were to go to Sandomierz. 

STEPAN 

A soldier here? In these swamps? 

MICHAEL 

All the way to the farm he came. We must go, he 
said. We were afraid to disobey. 

GRIGOR 

He did not tell you why you must go? 



PAWNS 45 

MICHAEL 

He had no time. He had to tell many others. 

STEPAN 

And you asked him nothing? 

MICHAEL 

We asked. He swore, and said that if we were not 
gone when he passed again on his way back, we should 
be beaten. 
\_There is a pause. 

ILIA 

And lame Peter, must he go too? 

MICHAEL 

I and all my men, he said. I have only the one. 

ILIA 

But he is lame. 
peter (good-naturedly) 

Lame Peter will travel as far and as fast as any of 
them! And if there is to be a festival, why should 
not lame Peter be there with the others? 

GRIGOR 

But the harvest? 

MICHAEL 

Yes, the harvest! 

STEPAN 

When we return we will reap our fields together, 
and then lame Peter will have a chance to show 
what a worker he is ! 
ilia (abruptly) 
A sound! 
{They stop talking, 

STEPAN 

What is it? 



46 PAWNS 

ilia (listening) 

A horse. 
stepan (incredulously) 

Ahorse? This time you are wrong! 

GRIGOR 

What fool would try to ride a horse through the 
swamp? 

ILIA 

Now I hear it more plainly. 

PETER 

Perhaps it is a riderless horse. 

ILIA 

No. A rider is using the whip. 
[He is looking off left. 
grigor (following his glance) 
A rider from the city? 

[ The peasants look at each other. The crackling of 
branches becomes audible. Stepan rises silently, and 
goes out at the left. 

MICHAEL 

As if there were no better use for a good animal 
than that! To ride through the swamp, where the 
ground is hardly firm enough to carry a man! 

PETER 

And quicksands, quicksands to right and left of him! 

The horse knows better than his master. 

[There is the sound of a drunken voice raised in anger. 

ILIA 

Listen to him! 

PETER 

Swearing at his horse, as if the poor beast could do 
any more! 



PAWNS 47 

ILIA 

He's afraid! I know he's afraid! He feels the earth 
crumbling under his hoofs! How he must tremble! 
\The sound of a whip being used unmercifully. 

ILIA 

Now he's beating him! I hope he throws him! 
Oh, I hope he throws him! 
\_There is a loud crash. 

GRIGOR 

He has thrown him! 

ILIA 

I knew he would! 

PETER 

It serves him right ! To treat a good horse like that ! 

ILIA 

And into the mud! The rider from the city in the 
mud! I should love to see that! 
\There is the report of a revolver. The peasants rise; 
look at each other in terrified inquiry. 

GRIGOR 

What was that? 

MICHAEL 

A shot! 

ILIA 

And Stepan! 

PETER 

Perhaps Stepan said something! 

ILIA 

Something the rider didn't like ! 

MICHAEL 

He was always quick tempered, your Stepan. He 



48 PAWNS 

was not the man to stand there and see the horse 

beaten for no fault of its own. 
grigor (in horror) 

Christ! 

[Stepan reenters. 
ilia (with a shout of relief) 

Here he comes! 

GRIGOR 

Stepan! 

MICHAEL 

What happened? 
stepan (briefly) 

His horse fell. It wouldn't rise again. He shot it. 

ILIA 

Oh! 

PETER 

Shot his horse! 

[At the left there enters a Russian sergeant, booted, 
spurred, carrying a whip. He is very muddy and very 
drunk. 
peter (repeats in horror) 
He shot his horse! 

THE SERGEANT 

Well, what of it? It was my horse, wasn't it? I 
could do what I wanted with it. 
Michael (more mildly) 

It must have been worth many roubles. 

THE SERGEANT 

The rich government will pay for it. (He stumbles 
nearer the fire) Give me something to drink. 

MICHAEL 

What would we be doing with drink? 



PAWNS 49 

GRIGOR 

We are only honest moujiks. 

THE SERGEANT 

You have nothing? Well, then — 

\JEe pulls a flash from a pockety and applies it to his lips, 

stepan (to Grigor, as the sergeant drinks) 
He has had too much to drink already. 

grigor (shrugging his shoulders) 
A Christian is a Christian. 

the sergeant (wiping his lips on his sleeve, and replac- 
ing his bottle without offering it elsewhere) 
Ah ! That puts the heart in you ! Make place for me 
at your fire, you ! (He elbows his way to a seat. The 
peasants edge away, so that he is alone at one side, and 
they together at the other) There! That's something 
like. 
^There is a pause. 

grigor (courteously) 
May I ask your name? 

the sergeant (warming his hands at the fire) 
What? 

GRIGOR 

Your name and surnames? 

THE SERGEANT 

Alexei Ivanovitch Liboff, Sergeant. 
grigor (inclining his head) 

I am Grigor Ignatievitch Arshin. This is my son 
Stepan. This is my son Ilia. This is my good 
neighbor — 
the sergeant (interrupts rudely with a drinking song) 
It isn't sleep that bows my head, 
But the drink, the drink that's in it! 



50 PAWNS 

grigor (in amazement) 

What? 
stepan (starting to rise angrily) 

The boor! 
grigor (laying a hand on his arm) 

A Christian is a Christian. 

THE SERGEANT 

I'll up and away to a distant glade! 
Where the wild red raspberries grow, 
And I'll meet a little Cossack girl, 
A little Cossack girl from the Don ! 

(He stops suddenly) Well, why don't you say 

something? 

GRIGOR 

It is not for us to speak in the presence of your 
excellency. - 

THE SERGEANT 

Then my excellency graciously grants you permission. 
(He rises, bows grotesquely y stumbles, falls) 
I'll meet a little Cossack girl, 
A little Cossack girl from the Don! 
(He stops; points at Ilia) You, speak! (Ilia 
remains silent. He points at Stepan) You ! (Stepan 
folds his arms and glares. He points at Grigor) You, 
old man! Are you all a pack of fools? 

grigor • 

Your excellency has traveled far? 

THE SERGEANT 

My excellency has traveled far. Through these 
cursed swamps on a stumbling horse all the way 
from Zawichost. 



PAWNS 51 



stepan (involuntarily) 
From Zawichost? 



THE SERGEANT 

Have I not said so? All the way from Zawichost, 
since eleven o'clock this morning. 
stepan (starting to put the question which is uppermost 
in all their minds) 
Perhaps, then — 
£He breaks off. 

THE SERGEANT 

Perhaps what? 

GRIGOR 

Perhaps your excellency can tell us something of the 
mobilization? 
the sergeant (yawning) 
The mobilization, oh, yes. 

ILIA 

It is a festival, is it not? 
the sergeant (shutting his mouth with a surprised 
snap) 
What? 

GRIGOR 

A festival of the holy church? 

THE SERGEANT 

Who told you that? (He laughs loudly) A festival 
of the church! 
Michael (somewhat nettled) 

What, then, is the mobilization? 

THE SERGEANT 

You don't know? 

PETER 

How should we? We live far from the cities. 



52 PAWNS 

THE SERGEANT 

Then why do you go there? 

MICHAEL 

We do as we are told. 
the sergeant (very drunkenly) 

Quite right! Do as you are told! Obey orders! 
That's the way for a moujik! 

GRIGOR 

But what is mobilization? 
the sergeant (turning on him) 

Mobilization is this: they stand you up in rows, the 
big men in back, and the little men in front. Then 
they put guns in your hands, and you shoot. 

ILIA 

I should love to shoot. 

MICHAEL 

But we don't know how. 

THE SERGEANT 

That doesn't matter. They teach you. 

STEPAN 

We shoot. Very well, what then? When we have 
shot do we go home? 

THE SERGEANT 

Oh, no! It only begins so. When you have shot, 
you march. Then they stand you up in rows again, 
and you shoot some more. 

MICHAEL 

What do you shoot at? 

ILIA 

Targets? 

THE SERGEANT 

Better than that! *..- 



PAWNS 53 



PETER 

Animals? 



THE SERGEANT 

Still better than that! (He pauses for his effect) 
How would you like to shoot at men? 

ILIA 

Shoot at men? 

MICHAEL 

What have they done that they should be shot at? 

GRIGOR 

What have we done that we should shoot at them? 
the sergeant (amused) 

You don't believe me? 

\jHe laughs; produces his bottle, drinks again. 
stepan (to Grigor) 

He is very drunk. He doesn't know what he is 

saying. 
peter (with a sudden laugh) 

I have found it! 

THE SERGEANT 

What have you found? 

PETER 

I have found the trick! You shoot at men, yes, 
but not with real bullets ! 
the sergeant (laughing, as the others laugh, but for 
a different reason) 

Not with real bullets? Wait a minute. (He fumbles 
in his bandolier) Here's one of them! 
£He tosses them a loaded cartridge. 

Michael (while they all examine it with curiosity) 
What is it? 



54 PAWNS 

THE SERGEANT 

Give it to me. {He demonstrates) This is full of 
powder. The hammer strikes here, and the powder 
explodes. And this — this — {he bites it out) — is 
the bullet. 
XJLe passes it to them. 

ILIA 

What a cruel thing ! 

PETER 

How heavy it is ! 

GRIGOR 

And is this what we shoot at men? 

THE SERGEANT 

Bullets like this — and bigger. 

GRIGOR 

But if we hit them? 

THE SERGEANT 

What? 
grigor {repeating his question) 
If we hit them? 

THE SERGEANT 

You want to hit them. 

GRIGOR 

And hurt them? 

THE SERGEANT 

You want to hurt them. 

GRIGOR 

Or even — kill them? 
the sergeant {reaching his climax) 
You want to kill them ! 
ZThe peasants look at one another blankly. The 



PAWNS 55 

sergeant is immensely pleased with the impression he 
has produced. 

STEPAN 

We are peaceable moujiks. 

MICHAEL 

We want to kill nobody. 

PETER 

They must have sent for the wrong men. They 
could not have wanted us. 
grigor (voicing the general opinion) 

We, we want to kill no man. For fifty years I have 
been a good Christian. I have killed nothing except 
that which I was to eat; I and my children. We 
do not eat men; we do not kill men. 

THE SERGEANT 

All right, then. You will learn how. 

GRIGOR 

I do not wish to learn how. 

THE SERGEANT 

So they say in the beginning. So was I in the begin- 
ning. The first time you pull your trigger, the first 
time you see a strong man fall, you are afraid, oh, 
you are afraid! But then the lust of killing sweeps 
over you, and you shoot, and shoot, while the metal 
of your gun burns the flesh of your hands, and you 
scream with joy, and are glad, and you kill! You 
kill! 

GRIGOR 

Far rather would I be killed myself! 

THE SERGEANT 

That may happen also! 
[Me drinks. 



56 PAWNS 

stepan (to Grigor) 
He lies. 

MICHAEL 

He is a soldier. Soldiers always lie. 

ILIA 

And he is drunk! Pah! 
grigor (to the sergeant, as he corks his bottle) 
These men, whom we shoot at — 
[He stops. 

THE SERGEANT 

Yes? 

GRIGOR 

They have stolen? They have murdered? 
[The sergeant laughs. 
grigor (patiently) 
They must be great criminals. What crime have 
they done? 

THE SERGEANT 

No crime. 

GRIGOR 

I Then why do they let us shoot at them? 

THE SERGEANT 

They do not let you. 

GRIGOR 

No? 

THE SERGEANT 

You shoot. d " 

GRIGOR 

And what do they do? 

THE SERGEANT 

They shoot also. 



PAWNS 57 

GRIGOR 

At US? 
THE SERGEANT 

Where else, then? They are the enemy. 

GRIGOR 

But we, we have no enemy. 

THE SERGEANT 

You will learn otherwise. These men, these men 

whom you shoot at and who shoot at you, they are 

your enemy. 

[There is a pause. The peasants exchange signs of 

incredulity. 
ilia {reflectively) 

To shoot, that is not so bad. But to be shot at, that 

I should not like at all! 
grigor {silencing him) 

And who are these men? 
peter {sarcastically) 

Yes, our enemies, who are they? 
the sergeant {waving his hand) 

Prussians. Germans. Austrians. 

GRIGOR 

And what are Prussians? — Germans? — Austrians? 

THE SERGEANT 

Men who live on the other side of the border. Men 
who live on the other side of the swamps. 

GRIGOR 

On the other side of the swamps? {He glances 
meaningly at Michael and Peter) What do you 
mean? 
the sergeant {growing drunkenly expansive) 

Well, you see, here is Russia, {a gesture to the left) 



58 PAWNS 

here are the swamps, (a gesture in front) that is, the 
border, and there is Austria. (A gesture to the right) 
Here we are. There is the enemy. 
[Rather unaccountably the peasants begin to laugh, a 
hearty laugh of relief, as if the sergeant has finally 
exposed the falsehood of everything that he has said by 
venturing upon a glaringly untrue statement. 
the sergeant (irritated) 

Well, what are you laughing at? 

MICHAEL 

A good joke! 

PETER 

Yes, a fine joke! 

MICHAEL 

A liar! Such a liar as there never was! 

STEPAN 

When a man has had too much to drink he should 
stay home ! 
GRIGOR (relaxing his dignity) 

And for a time we believed him! We believed him! 

THE SERGEANT 

What? 

STEPAN 

. Instead of telling lies to honest moujiks — 
the sergeant (interrupting) 
What do you mean? 

PETER 

We (indicating Michael), we live on the other side of 
the swamps! 

THE SERGEANT 

Well, what of it? 



PAWNS 59 

MICHAEL 

We are going to the mobilization also! 
the sergeant (with superiority) 

Here is the border line. But the line bends. 

PETER 

You said they shot at us! Because we lived on the 

other side of the swamps! Old Grigor, and Stepan, 

and Ilia! They shoot at us! 
stepan (laughing) 

Rather would we shoot at you, Alexei Ivanovitch ! 
the sergeant (growing angry) 

Laugh, if you like ! Laugh, but to-morrow, when you 

reach Zawichost, when you find that I am your 

superior officer, then I laugh ! 

PETER 

To Zawichost? But we do not go there! 

MICHAEL 

We go to Sandomierz! 
the sergeant (thunder struck) 

To Sandomierz! 
peter (snapping his fingers at him) 

Where you are not my superior officer! 
the sergeant (with sudden awakening) 

No, that I am not ! But you, you are the enemy ! 

PETER 

What? 

ILIA 

Did you hear what he said? 
stepan (laughing scornfully) 
The enemy? 

MICHAEL 

When we have tilled our fields together? 



60 PAWNS 

the sergeant (balancing himself with difficulty) 

Sandomierz, that is in Austria! 
grigor {disregarding him) 

Enemies! When we live a single verst apart from 

each other! 

MICHAEL 

When we have helped each other with the harvest, 
aye, since we were children! 

THE SERGEANT (shouting) 

We are Russians! You are Austrians! There is 
war between us! (He draws his revolver) I com- 
mand you to surrender. 
peter (mimicking him, dancing up and down in front 
of him) 
I command you to surrender! 

THE SERGEANT 

Surrender! 

PETER 

Listen to the drunken fool! Surrender! 

[JThe Sergeant shoots. Peter falls. There is a sudden 

and dreadful pause. 
stepan (laying his hand over Peter's heart) 

Dead! Dead as his horse! 
grigor (rising to his feet like a prophet of old) 

Are we men or are we beasts of the field? 
the sergeant (turning triumphantly on Michael) 

Now, you Austrian swine, will you surrender? 

{But Stepan is already advancing upon him, breathing 

deep, slowly, massively, like some awful engine of 

destruction. At first the Sergeant does not see him, 

but something in the expression of the others warns him. 

He wheels. 



PAWNS 61 

THE SERGEANT 

Back ! Stop where you are ! 

[Stepan continues grimly, his great hands rising slowly 

from his sides. 
the sergeant (in an ecstasy of fear) 

Back, I say ! 

[He fires. 

Stepan shakes himself, as if stung by a hornet, and 

throws his towering bulk upon the sergeant. There is 

a sigh of satisfaction from the moujik as his fingers 

lock about his adversary's throat. And there is a scream 

from the Sergeant, a scream ending in a choke .... 

The struggling figures fall outside of the circle of light. 

For a moment there is a threshing, as when some small 

animal is caught in a trap. Then quiet. 
grigor (almost sobbing) 

And not so long ago I thought it was easier to be 
killed than to kill! 
michael (with staring eyes) 

Murder! That I have lived to see a murder! 

ILIA 

Lame Peter ! Poor lame Peter ! 

[There is a pause. Then Stepan rises, holding the 

Sergeant's revolver between two fingers. 

STEPAN 

What shall I do with this? 
grigor (raising his head) 
What? 
[Stepan hands him the revolver. 

GRIGOR 

Pah! 

[He flings it away. A pause. 



62 PAWNS 

ilia (in a trembling voice) 

I so wanted to see you use your strength, and now 
that I have seen it — how horrible it is, how horrible ! 
[Stepan does not reply. Instead, he turns to Grigor. 

STEPAN 

The bodies? 

GRIGOR 

The swamp will swallow them up. 

{Stepan beckons to Ilia. Silently they raise Peter's 

body, carry it out at the back. They return. 
grigor (rises, bows his head, folds his hands. The 

others follow his example) 

May we all be happy. May the dead reach God's 

kingdom. May we all be preserved in good health. 

Amen. 

{The others repeat the Amen. He makes the sign of 

the cross. The others follow his example. A little 

light begins to filter through the trees. 
grigor (turning to Michael) 

And now, you on your way, we on ours. 

MICHAEL 

Farewell, brother. 

GRIGOR 

Brother, farewell! 

{Michael takes up two packs, his own, and Peter's; 

goes out at the back. 

Grigor, Stepan, Ilia, take up their own packs, go out 

at the left. 

THE CURTAIN FALLS 



IN THE RAVINE 

Opua £7 



IN THE RAVINE 

A snowy ravine in the Italian Alps. Everything is 
white. Even in the background, and at the sides, the 
shy is shut out by the perpendicular cliff sides. And 
every few seconds, a gust of wind, scooping through the 
length of the little hollow, fills the air with whirling clouds 
of snow. 

From above, sounds of fighting: the discharge of small 
arms; the rattle of machine guns; and, at intervals, the 
deeper reports of mountain artillery. Mixed in with it 
all, shouts, screams, human voices . . . 

The sounds of the invisible combat in the shy grow in 
volume, and suddenly, from above, a large rectangular 
object, indistinguishable for the snow which covers it, 
bounds down the slope facing us, to fall noiselessly into 
the deeper snow at its base. 

The firing grows louder; then diminishes. It appears 
that one side has scored a victory; that it is driving its 
opponent off in confusion. The noise dies out in the 
distance. 

Presently we observe that the fallen object is alive; 
it moves, separates into two parts, two soldiers, an Austrian 
and an Italian, both somewhat stunned by their fall. 

The Austrian is the first to rise to his feet. He loohs 
at the wall of white which hems him in, then at the prostrate 
Italian at his feet, takes in the situation, and laughs — 
laughs Homerically. But in the middle of his laugh he 
stops suddenly: attempts to move his left arm: utters an 

65 



66 IN THE RAVINE 



ejaculation of pain: investigates with the uninjured 

member, cursing softly as he does so. 

the Italian (an urbane little man of obvious refinement, 

sitting up, and watching with more than lay interest) 

Broken? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I don't know. It hurts like the devil. 
the Italian (rising) 
Let me see it. 

[He approaches. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I can't move it. (With sudden suspicion, as the Italian 
nears) No, you don't! 
the Italian (smiling) 
Oh, I shan't hurt you ! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Your word? (He breaks off, with renewed suspicion) 
That's what I thought up there. 
[He attempts to gesticulate with the injured arm — 
stops with a sharp intake of breath. 

THE ITALIAN 

I don't understand. 
the Austrian (rubbing his shoulder tenderly) 
When it came to the hand-to-hand struggle — 

THE ITALIAN 

Yes? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I took one look at you. I thought I should break 
you in two. 

THE ITALIAN 

Indeed? 



IN THE RAVINE 67 

THE AUSTRIAN 

You're such a little fellow. Why, I could make two 
of you ! Then you did something to me — Phew ! 
the Italian (explaining politely) 
Pressed on the brachial plexus. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

The what? How? 
the Italian (with professorial pleasure) 

The brachial plexus. Where the brachial nerve 

passes through the axilla, and forms a plexus near 

the neck of the humerus. 
the Austrian (not understanding in the least) 

Yes, I suppose that was it. 

THE ITALIAN 

You don't follow? Let me show you. 
^He approaches again. 

the Austrian {baching away hastily) 

No, no! The recollection is sufficiently vivid. 
(Loolcing at him fearfully) You've done it before? 

the Italian (expansively) 

Oh, often ! On a guinea pig it will produce complete 
insensibility in a minute. (Parenthetically) That is, 
with simultaneous compression of the vagus. On a 
large dog, two minutes and a quarter. On an ox, 
four minutes. Surprising, isn't it? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Hm! And what did you take me for? A dog or an 
ox? 
the Italian (with a simple smile) 

You? Neither. An enemy. (Wistfully) I had 
always wanted to try it on a man, but I had never 
done it. It's too painful. 



68 IN THE RAVINE 

THE AUSTRIAN 

So I observe. 

\_A 'pause. They smile. Then, realizing the humor 

of the situation, they laugh openly. 

THE ITALIAN 

Now, will you let me look at your arm? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

If you will be so good. 

[The Italian takes his left hand and rotates the arm. 

The Austrian exclaims. 

THE ITALIAN 

Hurt? {The Austrian nods) Much? {Another nod) 
It's not broken. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Not broken? Why, it's broken in a hundred places. 
the Italian {touching his armpit) 
The pain is worst here, isn't it? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Ouch ! Yes. 
the Italian {dropping the arm) 
You have me to thank for that. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I don't follow. 
the Italian {lightly) 

After effect. {He waves his hand) That's all. 
the Austrian {with vast expressiveness) 

Oh! Only that? 

THE ITALIAN 

It'll wear off by and by. Try and be patient. {He 

opens a cigarette case) Smoke? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

No, thanks. {Watching the Italian with undisguised 



IN THE RAVINE 69 



interest) Would you mind telling me — where you 
learned that? 
the Italian {lighting his cigarette) 
What? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

That — that — that little accomplishment of yours — 
\JLe indicates his arm. 

THE ITALIAN 

That? Oh, that's part of my business. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Your business? What are you? A wrestler? 
the Italian (laughing lightly) 
A wrestler? Hardly that! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

A pugilist? 

THE ITALIAN 

Ha! Is this the hand of the man who makes his 
living by his fists? Is this the forehead of the prize 
fighter? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Then a torturer of the Inquisition? 

the Italian (shaking his head) 

Thanks for the compliment — but I am strictly 
modern. (Simply) I am a professor in the Uni- 
versity of Padua. 

the Austrian (incredulously) 
A professor? 

THE ITALIAN 

Yes. Of biology. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Then why aren't you in the medical corps? 



70 IN THE RAVINE 

THE ITALIAN 

I am not a physician — and I wanted to see action. 

It's the truth. (As the Austrian stares at him, he 

announces his name with a little bow) I am Carlo 

Verani. 
the Austrian (repeating the name as if hypnotized) 

Carlo Verani? 
the Italian (obviously pleased) I take it you have 

heard of me? 

THE AUSTRIAN (flatly) 

No; I can't say I have. 
the Italian (anxiously) 

My monograph on the phylogenetic development of 
fresh water crustaceans? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Crustaceans? 

THE ITALIAN 

You must have heard of it. And my magnum opus 
on parthenogenesis in the sea urchin? 
^The Austrian shakes his head firmly. 
the Italian (despairingly) 

You don't know it? Why, every year for the past 
twenty I have had something new to give the world. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Your work, professor, has nothing to do with my 
business. 

THE ITALIAN 

Oh. (Perfunctorily) What is your business? 
\J!he Austrian bursts into laughter. 

THE ITALIAN 

Is it as funny as that? 



IN THE RAVINE 71 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Permit me to introduce myself. I am Fritz Schon- 
brunn. 
the Italian {trying to recall) 
Fritz Schonbrunn? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

You have heard the name? 

THE ITALIAN 

It has a familiar sound. And you say it as if I should 
have heard it. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I am a man at the top of my profession ! 

THE ITALIAN 

Indeed? I congratulate you. And that profession? 
the Austrian (smiling and pausing) 

A minute ago you asked me to look at your hand. 
Now look at mine. 

THE ITALIAN 

Well? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Those finely modeled outlines; those flexible, supple 
muscles; those long, sensitive fingers; do they say 
nothing to you? 

THE ITALIAN 

An artist, of course. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Of course. But what kind of an artist? 
the Italian (examining the hand) 

Violinist? (The Austrian shakes his head) Pianist? 
(Another shake of the head) Not a musician? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Except in so far as every Austrian is a musician. 



72 IN THE RAVINE 



THE ITALIAN 

Sculptor? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

No. I 

THE ITALIAN 

Painter? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

That's better! 

THE ITALIAN 

Not a painter, but allied with painting? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Yes. 

THE ITALIAN 

Then an etcher! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Nearly right! Very nearly right! 
the Italian (amused) 

Well, then? 
the Austrian (with simple pride) 

I am a forger! 
the Italian (somewhat upset) 

I — I beg your pardon. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

A forger. Not the man who works in the sweat of 
his brow, if you please, but the man who produces 
more valuable articles: checks, notes, promises to 
pay, letters of credit, bills of exchange, all that sort 
of thing. 

THE ITALIAN 

— Oh ! How interesting ! 



IN THE RAVINE 73 

the Austrian (with a deliberate copy of the professor's 
manner) You must have heard of the celebrated 
million kronen forgery? 

the Italian (unconvincingly) 
Of course ! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Why, the Baron went on the stand and swore that 
it was his signature on the note: that he didn't 
remember signing it, but that there was no doubt 
about the signature! I did that! And then the 
check I raised from eight to eighty thousand, and 
when the cashier was suspicious, forged an indorse- 
ment, and got the money! And the jewels of the 
Countess Potocka, which the jeweler delivered to 
me on her written order — which she has not yet 
been able to prove was a forgery ! 
THE Italian (for the sake of saying something) 
You seem to have had a busy life. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Busy? Overcrowded! Always something new to 
give to the world — just like yourself. 

THE ITALIAN 

Yes; I was about to remark it. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Both of us professional men, eh? Both of us followers 
of the liberal arts? 

the Italian (regaining something of his equilibrium) 
At different distances ! 

the Austrian (nodding and smiling) , 
But followers, nevertheless ! 
{He blows a kiss into the air. 



74 IN THE RAVINE 

the Italian (chuckling) 
Why the kiss? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

That? (Blowing another) For the Muse! 
£Shots are heard in the distance. 
the Italian (gesticulating) 
They're still fighting. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Yes . . . (Coming back to earth suddenly) I regret 
to change the subject — 

the Italian (nodding shrewdly) 
You were talking about yourself. 

the Austrian (smiling) 

Even in that case. (He takes a step forward) Pro- 
fessor, you are my prisoner! 

the Italian (undismayed) 
Your prisoner? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Just that. 

THE ITALIAN 

Oh! Then your arm must be all right again! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Quite recovered, thank you. (He points) I cap- 
tured you up there. 

THE ITALIAN 

Hm! And brought me down here for safe-keeping? 

Yes? 
the Austrian (grinning) 
Well — 

THE ITALIAN 

Oh, I recall distinctly that you said something about 
my surrendering — or words to that effect. 



IN THE RAVINE 75 

THE AUSTRIAN 

You admit it! 

THE ITALIAN 

Of course ! But I don't remember that I surrendered. 
Instead, (he indicates his armpit with an eloquent 
gesture) I made use of my anatomical knowledge, 
and the next thing I knew — 
\JIe breaks off. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Yes? 

the Italian (continuing his sentence) 

I was laboring under the delusion that you were my 

prisoner ! 

XJle advances stealthily upon the Austrian. 

the Austrian (observing his approach; suddenly draw- 
ing a sword bayonet) 
Stand off ! 

THE ITALIAN 

Oh! (He follows his example leisurely) You see, 
I have one also. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Your tricks won't help you now! 

THE ITALIAN 

No? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

In bayonet fighting it's a matter of skill with a 
point ! 

the Italian (smiling sweetly) 

Oh ! You imagine it's a pen ! 
the Austrian (laughing, despite himself) 

What of that? 



76 IN THE RAVINE 

THE ITALIAN 

Don't forget! I am an expert with the lancet! 
(He describes geometrical designs with the point of his 
bayonet) 
the Austrian (watching him critically) 

Your hand isn't steady. You smoke too many 
cigarettes. I never smoke. 

THE ITALIAN 

Hm! You need a steady hand, don't you? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

What? 

THE ITALIAN 

In your profession? 
the Austrian (smiling) 

When a mistake means jail? Emphatically! (He 

swings his arms vigorously to restore the circulation) 

Are you ready? 
the Italian (without moving) 

When you are. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Well then, on guard! 

THE ITALIAN 

Wait a minute! Wait a minute! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

What do you want? 

THE ITALIAN 

Think! Stop and think! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Well? 
the Italian (in his best professorial manner) 
Either you will kill me or I will kill you. 



IN THE RAVINE 77 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Preferably the former. 
the Italian (nodding) 

According to the point of view. And then? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

What do you mean? 

THE ITALIAN 

The survivor — who will probably be wounded — 
what will happen to him? 

THE AUSTRIAN 

The survivor will rejoin his regiment. 

THE ITALIAN 

Yes? (Waving his arms graphically) By flying 

there, doubtless? 
the Austrian (thunder struck) 

I never thought of that. 
the Italian (seating himself comfortably, and lighting 

a cigarette) 

Well, think of it now. 
the Austrian (examining the walls which hem them in) 

It's only thirty feet to the top. 
the Italian (blowing smoke rings into the air) 

Thirty feet — more or less. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

And it's easy enough to climb out here. 
[He indicates a point at the back. 

THE ITALIAN 

Yes. I noticed that ten minutes ago. 
the Austrian (continuing his explorations) 
Or here ! 

THE ITALIAN 

Or anywhere — if one is unwounded. To the wounded 



78 IN THE RAVINE 

man those thirty feet represent the distance between 
life and death — and so far as concerns him, they 
might as well be thirty miles. (With a pleasant smile) 
Either we climb out unwounded — or not at all. 

the Austrian (with a broad grin) 
Well, after you ! 

the Italian (laughing) 

I couldn't think of taking precedence! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

There is no reason to stand on ceremony. 

the Italian (shaking his head gently) 

Pressed flat against the cliff side, holding on with 
hands and feet, I am afraid the temptation to pin 
me fast — like a butterfly on a card — might be too 
much for you. 

the Austrian (testing the point of his bayonet thought- 
fully) 
Would be too much for me. 

the Italian (amicably) 

Just as I thought! Now, if you want to go first — 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I would not be so disrespectful, professor ! 
[He returns to a position facing the Italian; seats 
himself, his bayonet resting across his knees. 
the Italian (stating the problem smilingly) 

It's the simplest thing under the sun. Neither of us 
dares climb out. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

No. 

THE ITALIAN 

If we fight, the survivor will either freeze — or 



IN THE RAVINE 79 



starve — unless he is lucky enough to die of his 
wounds. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

And if we don't fight — 

THE ITALIAN 

Then both of us. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Quite so. 
the Italian {after a rather serious pause, chuckling 
at the thought) 
I warn you — 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Yes? 

THE ITALIAN 

I am accustomed to late hours. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

What of that? 

THE ITALIAN 

You will probably fall asleep first. 
the Austrian {laughing) 

How you think of everything! And if I should fall 

asleep — 
the Italian {rubbing his hands, and gazing innocently 

at a point in the distance) 

If you should fall asleep — 

THE AUSTRIAN 

You would proceed — 

THE ITALIAN 

Immediately — 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Or even sooner — {choosing his words carefully) — 
to dissect me. 



80 IN THE RAVINE 

THE ITALIAN 

With the greatest pleasure! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

And the greatest expertness! {The Italian raises 
his hand in modest protest) The expertness which 
one might expect of a professor in the University 
of Bologna! 
the Italian {correcting him) 
Padua. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I beg your pardon? 

THE ITALIAN 

The University of Padua. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Ah, yes! Careless of me. {He resumes the subject) 
That is what would happen if I fell asleep. But you 
don't imagine that my masterpieces were executed 
in a few minutes, or even in a few hours? I have 
worked three days and nights on a difficult signature ! 

THE ITALIAN 

Oh! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

The work is sufficient inspiration in itself to keep me 
awake. I always carry paper and a fountain pen 
with me. I shall practise. 

THE ITALIAN 

Oh! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

I shall combine business with pleasure. When I 
leave here it will be with a million kronen worth of 
new forgeries! 



IN THE RAVINE 81 

THE ITALIAN 

Hm! Executed in the dark! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

What do you mean? 

THE ITALIAN 

I take it that an ability to see in the dark is not one 
of your unusual accomplishments? 
the Austrian {biting his lip) 
No. 

THE ITALIAN 

There will be no moon to-night. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Oh! So that's the case! 
the Italian (with an expressive gesture) 
There will be a game of blind man's buff. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

And quite probably no winner at all. 

THE ITALIAN 

Quite probably. {There is a pause; they look at each 
other seriously) If we fight — if we kill each other, 
our lives simply cancel. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Yes. 

THE ITALIAN 

Still it is necessary for us to fight. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

We are enemies. 

THE ITALIAN 

Our countries — yours and mine — are at war. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

To let each other go is out of the question. 



82 IN THE RAVINE 

THE ITALIAN 

Altogether. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

And for one of us to surrender — 

THE ITALIAN (proudly) 

Not I! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Why not? Isn't your life valuable to your country? 

THE ITALIAN 

Not as valuable as my death can be. I am an edu- 
cated man. It is my duty to set an example. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Example? To these four walls? 

THE ITALIAN 

To myself, if you please: because my self-respect, 
because all of the training that has gone to make me 
what I am, does not permit me to save my skin in 
any other way ! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Well spoken, professor! 

THE ITALIAN 

And you! You are not thinking of example? 
the Austrian (lightly) 

Why not? A thief once died on a cross. 

THE ITALIAN 

Is that why? 
the Austrian (shaking his head) 
Fashions are not set by criminals. 

THE ITALIAN 

Well, then? 



IN THE RAVINE 83 



the Austrian {shamefacedly at first; then with growing 
exaltation) 

Well, then, this country of mine, this country which 
has hounded me from one city to another, which has 
released me from one jail but to clap me into the 
next, which has set a reward upon my head and its 
police at my heels, damn it all, I love my country! 

THE ITALIAN 

Well spoken, criminal! (He pauses) Fight it is. 
We will climb together — you over there, I here. 
We will reach the top together. Then, when we have 
reached the top — 

THE AUSTRIAN 

To the death, professor! 

THE ITALIAN 

To the death ! 

[They move toward the indicated places, watching each 
other furtively. Suddenly the Italian breaks into a 
peculiar laugh. 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Well? 

THE ITALIAN 

I am thinking: what a fate, if I, professor of biology, 
am slain by a forger! 

THE AUSTRIAN 

No worse than mine: the greatest forger of the 
twentieth century to be slain by a professor — and 
of biology ! 
\They laugh. 
the Italian (sharply) 
Are you ready? 



84 IN THE RAVINE 

THE AUSTRIAN 

Yes! 

THE ITALIAN 

Then — to our next meeting ! 

\_Boih men come to attention; salute. Then, facing 

about, they begin to climb rapidly. 

THE CURTAIN FALLS 



VALKYRIE! 



VALKYRIE! 

The lights are extinguished. 
The prologue is spoken by a male voice. 
The curtain rises upon the first words. 
Until the prologue is finished the lighting shows the 
upper half of the scene only. 

It is night — night between the battles. 
Before us, a level plain. Dotting it, disfiguring it, 
most hideously marring it, the wounded, the dying, 
the dead. Paralleling each other, on either side, 
running onward as far as the sight of the eye will 
reach, trenches hastily — but scientifically — dug in 
the clayey mud. And in them, cursing the freezing 
water which is up to their knees, cursing the vermin 
which swarms unmolested about them, but cursing 
each other most of all, men, many men, ready to die, 
expecting to die, some of them hoping to die. A little 
while ago and they were tradesmen, professors, stu- 
dents of philosophy, thieves. Now pleb and patri- 
cian, scum and upper crust, mingle quite amiably, 
considering the circumstances, fight shoulder to 
shoulder, quarrel as equals, and are buried, when 
their turn comes, in a company vastly unbefitting 
their caste, rank, social position. 
Quiet — but a fearful quiet punctuated by the groans 
of those whose sufferings have passed the point of 
endurance. For the narrow rectangle which shifts 

87 



88 VALKYRIE 



weekly a few yards in either direction is a vial of 
agony — and overflows. 

Overhead, an occasional rift in the wind-driven clouds 
lets through a pale, shuddering beam of moonlight. 
In the distance, coming into sight, and melting into 
blackness as the scurrying clouds separate and come 
together again, looms the tottering spire of a ruined 
church. Here, not so long past, country people in 
blouses and sabots prayed that their Maker would 
guard them from "war, pestilence, and sudden 
death." Here, a month ago, men wearing flat- 
topped caps prayed that that same Maker would 
destroy other men wearing spiked helmets, and here, 
a week later, the men of the spiked helmets prayed 
for the destruction of them of the flat-topped caps. 
And even as in olden times the heathen disfigured 
the idol who failed to comply with his request, so 
the men of the caps and the men of the helmets and 
the men who once wore blouses have alternated 
between supplication and bombardment, between 
hymns and high explosives. 

The ear of their common Deity has been assailed 
indifferently by the voice of the chorister and the 
voice of the cannon, but remaining apparently deaf, 
His house bears the marks of savage violence. So 
that now it has become unsafe to offer prayer in the 
shattered edifice, and, as in the beginning, the Master 
is again addressed in the open fields, with sacrifice, 
with fire, and with burnt offering. In the distance 
the church, builded by the love of man in times of 
peace, unbuilded by the hate of man in times of war, 
silhouettes murkily against the livid background. 



VALKYRIE 89 



But here, under the uncertain moonlight, God is near 
to His children, and beyond the clouds lie the stars. 
The voice ceases. 

A little light is permitted to reach the lower part of the 
scene. 

There is a long pause. 

Suddenly, barely a dozen yards away, a dim figure 
struggles to its feet, and a faltering voice intones the first 
words of the Lord's Prayer: "Our Father, Which art in 
Heaven . . . ' A hundred feet to the right a single 
rifle speaks. A momentary flash, a crackling report, 
which echoes into instant silence, and the trembling figure 
collapses limply, sagging oddly in unexpected places — like 
a torn bag of oats — and the prayer remains unfinished. 
From the English trenches, a hundred feet to the left, half 
a dozen rifles yelp in answer, aiming at the flash. And 
again there is silence. 

In the foreground, quite near to us, so close that his 
sudden discovery by a wandering moonbeam startles us, 
a wounded German officer, inconspicuously propping 
himself up on the knapsack which he has taken from the 
body of a dead soldier, speaks unemotionally. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Narr! 
a British officer (also wounded; some five feet away) 

I beg your pardon? 
the German officer (speaking in perfect English) 

Oh! You're still alive? 
the British officer (nodding) 

Yes — still alive. 



90 VALKYRIE 



THE GERMAN OFFICER 

An hour more or less — what does it matter? 
\_There is a pause. 
the British officer (shifting an inch painfully) 
What was it you said before? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

That poor fool down there — you saw him? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

No. My head was turned the other way. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

He stood up. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Stood up? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

With a hundred men waiting for a target. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

They got him? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

The first shot. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Killed, I suppose. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

For his sake, I hope so. 
the British officer (after a pause) 
God rest his soul! 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Hm! (A thoughtful silence) Amen. 
the British officer (after another pause) 
Have a cigarette? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

What? 



VALKYRIE 91 



THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Here; in the pocket of my tunic. I can't reach 
them. 

the German officer (laughing softly) 

A cigarette? With my men watching, you would 
never finish lighting it. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

I didn't think of that. 
\He is silent. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

We Germans smoke pipes; German pipes, with metal 
lids. You can't see the fire in the bowl a foot away. 
Your men smoke cigarettes. We can see them from 
our trenches. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Well? 

the German officer (shrugging his shoulders) 

At night — we aim a trifle higher than the glow. 
(He waves his hand expressively) Then — sometimes 
— the cigarette goes out. 

the British officer (after a pause) 
German efficiency. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Thoroughness in all things. 
[He nods gravely. 

the British officer {with a shudder) 

But horrible to think of! The fighting over. Star- 
light — and darkness — and thoughts of home. 
And suddenly a crash — a bullet through bone and 
tissue — and thought ends ! 



92 VALKYRIE 



the German OFFICER (smiling patiently) 
Horrible, you think? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

To die in fair fight; to see the face of your enemy — 
that's another thing! But at night! Perhaps when 
you're smiling over your last letter from home, your 
mind full of pictures which have nothing to do with 
war! Your body in the trenches, but your thoughts 
a thousand miles away ! And then — then — ! 
A voice from the ground (a faint voice, with some- 
thing of a fine poetic fervor in it) 
Then — the Valkyrie! 

the British officer (starting violently) 

What? 
the same speaker (a fair-haired lad of twenty-six or 

seven; a German private soldier) 

Then the Valkyrie, who comes to carry the soul of 

the dead hero to Valhalla ! 

THE BRITISH OFFICER (blankly) 

Valhalla? Valhalla in the twentieth century? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Hist! 

{For the benefit of the British Officer he touches his 
finger to his forehead in an expressive gesture. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Oh! 

\\The soldier has relapsed into his former stupor. The 

officers look at him curiously. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER (sotto VOCe) 

Last night he was one of a rescue party that tried to 
bring me back. They failed. 



VALKYRIE 93 



the British officer {horrified at the thought) 

And you've been here two nights? 
the German officer {with the suggestion of a laugh) 

Two? Three. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER {appalled) 

Good Lord! 
the German officer {with polite interest) 

You're not used to that kind of thing, are you? 
{The British Officer shakes his head) Thought so. 
Volunteer? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Yes. Landed three weeks ago. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Well, men get used to anything — when it's necessary. 
{He pauses, to continue impersonally) It's not easy 
to move me, that's the trouble. My thigh is broken 
— a piece of shrapnel, I think — or they would have 
brought me back the first night. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

They tried? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Of course. {He pauses) A sound louder than an 
ordinary speaking voice would have been fatal, and 
when they try to move you — and your thigh is 
broken — sometimes it's beyond endurance. {He 
pauses again) Last night they would have succeeded. 
They brought along morphine, and they gave me a 
hypodermic. Only the moon came out at the 
wrong time. They had to go back — and they left 
the boy behind. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Badly wounded? 



94 VALKYRIE 



THE GERMAN OFFICER 

I don't know . . . He's been quiet all day. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

I saw him, but I thought he was dead. (He pauses, 
to look at the soldier with a new feeling of interest) 
Young, isn't he? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Yes. 

{There is a pause. 

the British officer (shaking his head) 
So little gained! 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

What do you mean? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

If they had succeeded in bringing you back, it might 
have been worth while. As it is, simply another life 
thrown away. 

the German officer (patiently) 

The attempt was worth making, wasn't it? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

To rescue your officer? Yes. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER (simply) 

It is far better to fail than not to try. 
{There is a pause. 

the soldier (speaking again in his delirium) 

In the old days, sword and buckler. To-day, poison 
gas and rapid-fire guns. But above it all, far above 
the battles, the Valkyrie! The Valkyrie! 

the British officer (with a touch of contempt) 
The credo of the Hun. 



VALKYRIE 95 



THE GERMAN OFFICER 

It impresses you that way? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Like the Moslem — looking forward to Paradise — 
and the Houris. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER (critically) 

Houris and Valkyries? Not much similarity. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Even then? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

What is your faith? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

The faith of a Christian. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Heaven? A peaceful heaven? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

So I trust. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

What a lot of fighting you are doing to get there ! 
the British officer (with the shadow of a smile) 
But if it is worth the fighting? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Clouds? Fog? Thousands of Englishmen? And 

dullness? Deadly dullness? (He shudders) How like 

London ! 

\_There is a long pause. The British Officer smiles; 

makes up his mind to say something; thinks better of 

it. 

THE SOLDIER 

In Valhalla they fight; and when they are tired of 



96 VALKYRIE 



fighting, they sit down together as friends, and tell 
of their battles. And then they fight again — and 
the Valkyries hover about them ! . 

the German officer (nodding emphatically) 

A belief in heaven, a heaven of peace, is very beautiful. 
But for my regiment, for the men I am to command, 
give me a belief in a fighting heaven. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

The boy is delirious. Nobody takes that sort of 
thing seriously. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Of course not. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Poetic, and noble: what you will. But it's rot, 
absolute rot. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

The most beautiful kind of rot. Serious beliefs, 
well-reasoned theologies, and we Germans are not 
bad at that sort of thing, may answer for times of 
peace. But when the bugles are blowing, and the 
thunder of cannon is in the air, give me a thought 
to fire my brain as a strong wine fires my body! 
Give me something to inspire me! Something to 
set my heart beating and the blood racing through 
my veins! Away with your beliefs! Give me 
ideals! (He pauses) Afterwards — long afterwards 

— when we have time to sit down and reason it 
out together, we may admit that our ideals were 

— well — 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

False? 



VALKYRIE 97 



the German officer (shaking his heady and emphasiz- 
ing the word) 

Poetic, as you said — too beautiful to be true. But 
when we see the face of the enemy, hear the click 
of the men behind us fixing their bayonets, sense 
the short, sharp breathing of our neighbors, and 
find out that we too are breathing short and sharp, 
back we go to our ideals! Long live the Valkyrie! 

THE SOLDIER 

Long live the Valkyrie ! 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

The fighter goes to his reward! 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

The fighter — fair or foul. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Fair or foul — does it matter? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

It matters why he is fighting. It takes a good cause 
to justify a fight. 
the German officer (with solemnity) 

A good fight justifies any cause! Right and wrong? 
(He shakes his head) I don't know. You don't know. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Then why not find out? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

We are giving a million lives to find out. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

And if you are wrong? 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

A world where men are willing to die to find out if 
they are wrong is a world worth living in — or dying 
for. 



98 VALKYRIE 



the soldier {after a pause) 

A few days — or a month ago — I don't know which 
— she sang for us, back of the trenches. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

What is he talking about? 
the soldier (sings a fragment of the melody of Wagner's 

"Ride of the Valkyrie") 

Hoy-oh-to-ho ! 
the German officer (explaining) 

One of the Red Cross nurses; before the war she was 

a famous opera singer. She sang for the men. 

THE SOLDIER 

The Valkyrie! She sang! God, how she sang! 
the German officer (to the British Officer) 

It's from Wagner. You know the melody. 
the British officer (nodding) 

We could hear it in our trenches. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

What you call one of our false ideals. My brain 
tells me there is no Valkyrie. It's nothing but an 
old Norse legend, with as much truth to it as Odin 
and Thor. But when that song rings out, you 
clench your fists, and see red, and — and everything 
is unreal but the Valkyrie ! 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Yes, I understand. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

False as hell, if you like, but beautiful! Beautiful! 
\_It has been growing darker steadily. In the distance 
the ruined church has long ago vanished from sight. 
The moon overhead is hidden by clouds. 



VALKYRIE 99 



\_A rocket screams into the air from the German lines 
and explodes, illuminating the ground beneath with 
ghastly distinctness. There is a burst of firing from 
either side. The rocket goes out. Silence. 
the German officer {in almost impenetrable darkness) 
They will be coming for me any minute now. You 
will give no alarm, I hope. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Your men must stop here. No surprise attacks, 
you know. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

I give you my word. No alarm? 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

No alarm. 
\There is a pause. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

If they bring me back safely I will send them here to 
get you. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER (lightly) 

Hardly worth while. I 'm done for. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

We'll give you a chance anyhow. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

And the boy. 

THE GERMAN OFFICER 

Of course the boy. 

\There is another pause. Then, in the utter darkness, 
the voice of the delirious soldier drills itself into one's 
consciousness with an uncanny effect. 

THE SOLDIER 

The Valkyrie ! High above the battles, the Valkyrie ! 
Not where the whirring of looms, not where the buzz 



100 VALKYRIE 



of machines fills the air, but where the cannon crash, 
where the shouts of fighting men rise to the sky, 
where blows are struck and blood flows, the Valkyrie ! 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Not so loud, boy. 

the soldier (disregarding him) 

To die, not in bed, with doctors and nurses around, 
and the smell of medicines in your nostrils, but to 
die in fair fight with your enemy, your rifle in your 
hand, and your head cradled on the breast of the 
Valkyrie ! 

the British officer (trying to soothe him) 
Quiet ! Quiet, for God's sake ! 

THE SOLDIER 

In Valhalla the heroes fight, and wounds are given, 
but the Valkyrie heals them, and they fight again ! 
\_A s if his voice were that of a soloist leading an invisible 
orchestra, an uncertain sound of musketry fire in the 
far distance gradually approaches, and now, like 
instruments hurling their voices into the unison, explodes 
into a deafening uproar. Rockets soar into the air 
from either side, and as if their bursting were another 
signal, a noisy, whistling wind sweeps the clouds from 
the face of the moon. The battlefield, gaunt, naked, bare 
of trees and vegetation, is revealed in a cold, white 
light — and from right and left, eager, palpitating 
tongues of red fire leap from the throats of a thousand 
restless weapons. The German Officer has vanished — 
whether in safety or otherwise one may not know — but 
the Soldier's voice, high, triumphant, insistent, struggles 
with the fearful din. 



VALKYRIE 101 



THE SOLDIER 

Valkyrie! Valkyrie! Hear me! Valkyrie! Hear 
me! 

[His voice is lost in the awful uproar. And then, as a 
storm lulls in the midst of its fury, the firing ceases. 
Silence — an all pervading silence, follows with some- 
thing of a shock upon the deafening waves of sound. 
A pause. 
the soldier (faintly, in desperate appeal) 
Valkyrie! Hear me! 

[On the instant, suddenly, abruptly, from behind the 
German trenches, rises a woman's voice, a God-given 
soprano, in the piercing notes of the battle-cry of the 
Valkyrie. 

THE VOICE IN THE DISTANCE 

Hoy-oh-toho ! Hoy-oh-to-ho ! 
the soldier (wildly excited) 

The Valkyrie! 
the British officer (almost sobbing in his anxiety) 

Quiet, you fool! 

THE VOICE IN THE DISTANCE 

Hoy-oh-to-ho ! 
the soldier (springs to his feet in ecstasy, raising his 
arms to the skies in frenzied supplication) 
Valkyrie ! Valkyrie ! 

[The report of a single rifle crashes through the silence. 
The expression of ecstasy does not leave the face of the 
Soldier, but over his features steals a surprised smile, 
as if in that instant some heavenly vista had opened 
before his eyes. And his knees bend quite slowly, 
and his body, like some worn-out garment, slips lifeless 
to the ground. 



102 VALKYRIE 



the British officer (sobbing openly) 
Killed ! The fool ! Oh, the fool ! 
[Pandemonium breaks out again, but strong, uncon- 
querable, supreme above the uproar, the song in the 
distance rises higher — higher — ! 

THE CURTAIN FALLS GENTLY 



H 



